


it's torture

by flotsam45



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, birth fic, torture birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 03:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flotsam45/pseuds/flotsam45
Summary: Since John was taken by Moriarty nearly ten months ago, Sherlock has never stopped looking. But Moriarty puts an end to the chase, leaving a laboring John to be found by the consulting detective.Serious warnings for implied rape, graphic descriptions of birth.Revised RP from October 2013.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Despite being the one that wrote half of this, I feel the need to warn you that this is fucked up.   
> Rape/Non-con mention, graphic descriptions of birth, etc.   
> If that's your thing, read on. If not, I ask that you turn back.

John rocked back and forth on his hands and knees, groaning and panting through another contraction. Sweat dripped down the man’s body, small droplets darkening the sheets and pillows of his haphazard nest in the corner of the room. He spread his legs wider, arched his back, and cried out, helpless to do nothing but cope with the pain as he still wasn’t dilated enough to push. The labor had been long; the baby was unnaturally big, and seemed to be intent on torturing him as much as possible before actually allowing him to bear down – which was appropriate, considering it was the child Jim Moriarty was forcing him to bear.

 

Jim entered the room, the door opening with a loud bang. "How are you doing, love?" he purred, going over to John. "Does it hurt?" He grinned.

 

John could hardly respond with words anymore. He gave a low moan, his belly brushing the duvet as he spread his legs wider, wanting to get the baby out.

 

Jim hummed and knelt down by him and caressed John's face slowly, before slapping him harshly.

 

John shouted, his mind scrabbling to find something to say to please his captor, "Yes, yes it hurts, Jim!" he managed before groaning again as another contraction began moaned. "Please. Help me."

 

Jim smirked, and stood. "Good luck, love." he said over his shoulder, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

 

John had long given up on calling after him; it only earned him more punishments, and he couldn't spare the energy from the difficult labor. He gave another loud, guttural moan as the contraction peaked, keening as the child pushed hard against against his partially-opened cervix.

 

Jim sent out a text, the first one in months. 'Come and get what used to be yours. Abandoned warehouse in your area. He'll be waiting. ;)' It had been ten long months since he'd taken John hostage, and he'd had his fun. This was quite like the grand finale - returning a broken doctor to it's rightful owner. He smirked, just imagining the face Sherlock would have when he saw the condition that John was in.

When his phone buzzed, Sherlock checked it immediately, hoping it was from Mycroft. His brother had been searching just as frantically as he had been for the ten months, and Sherlock had refused to believe that John was dead. When he read the text, his blood ran cold. He grabbed his jacket and was out the door, sending a text to Mycroft about where he was going.

Jim, followed by the rest of his men, filed out of the warehouse, and into a van, driving off without a trace.

 

John was screaming, his eyes squeezed shut, his gravid body soaked in sweat. He was nearly open, but not enough, and Jim's enormous baby felt like it was going to break its way out of him. John's womb contracted violently and he nearly convulsed, the pressure spiking unimaginably again. Pressing his forehead into the blankets, he opened himself wide as if it would somehow help the child exit as he desperately tried to find out how much he was dilated.

 

Sherlock made his way across town, taking every single shortcut, and was breathless by the time he reached the warehouse. There was no sign of Moriarty and his network, but Sherlock assumed that they'd be long gone -- which was why they were returning John to him now. He busted down the door, and ran in, lights still on. "John!" he yelled, looking around for any sign of his....his John.

 

John was sure he was hallucinating, that the pain was making him loopy. Perhaps he was on the brink of death, a part of him thought idly as another cry tore from his throat, and this was just his brain firing off the last memories of comfort and home. He definitely wasn't hearing Sherlock, though, he couldn't be. He howled and tried to drop his hips lower to help the baby down.

 

Sherlock heard the cry, and ran off in that direction. He began kicking down doors, and when he reached the one John was behind, he froze completely. "J-John?" he breathed.

 

John moaned and cried, not daring to look towards the door. "Please," he managed, clutching a hand to his enormous belly as his entire body struggled to labor the child. "Please, Jim. It hurts so much. P-please, help me.."

 

Sherlock blinked rapidly, and quickly rushed to John's side. "John, it's me. It's going to be alright. Moriarty's left. I'm here, John." he murmured, kneeling by him and rubbing John's back.

 

John shook his head, his eyes shut tight as he tried to rock his hips again to help ease the pain. "Please, n-not now Jim, no recordings now, p-please. It hurts. Isn't this enough for you?" John figured out Moriarty's trick of using recordings of Sherlock's voice to toy with him ages ago. This kind of begging would result in more punishment, John knew, but he really couldn't stand the emotional pain when his body was already being pushed to its limit with physical agony.

 

Sherlock sighed softly. "John, he's gone. I promise you. He's gone. You're going to be alright." he murmured, cupping John's face in his hands gently, and pressing a kiss to John's forehead. "It's going to be alright." he whispered again.

 

John finally had the courage to open his eyes; Jim had never touched him like that, not with such love. He would caress John almost predatorily, the falseness of his affections always apparent through the paper-thin guise of kindness. He blinked stupidly as Sherlock's face swam into view through the haze of pain. "Sh-," he managed, before the rest of the sentence dissolved into low groans as he contracted again.

 

Sherlock was relieved to have John finally acknowledge him. He went to work, rubbing the small of John's back, and murmured soft encouragement.

 

John moaned, and screamed again when the pain peaked. As the contraction lessened and became more bearable, he panted heavily. "Please," he managed, "check how dilated I am. Get this thing out of me."

 

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, and moved further down, hesitantly reaching down and feeling John's opening. After a moment, he withdrew his hand. "Eight centimeters. You're close to being able to push." 

 

"Not enough," John sobbed, "It- it's been so long. I don't know how much more of this I can take." His fingers clutched the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white. His belly heaved and he lowed, his waters suddenly breaking violently and gushing between his legs.

 

Sherlock's eyes widened briefly in surprise. He moved so that he was at John's side again. "John, I know it hurts, but it'll help if you focus on your breathing. Slow, deep breaths." He murmured, dabbing the sweat from John's forehead with his handkerchief. 

 

John tried, but his efforts were marred with groans and cries. "It's been over a day," he moaned, "J-jim was making sure I knew how long it was taking." His belly bulged towards the floor, so large it looked as if he was carrying twins. "It's enormous," he whined, "He- he did something to me. Something to make it grow so big, and then later, to slow down the labor-  _ ahh! _ "

 

Sherlock frowned, but nodded. "Alright." he muttered, rubbing the small of John's back again. "I have an idea, but it  _ may _ hurt substantially more than what you're experiencing." he said. "Standing and walking a bit, or at the very least, squatting, will help the child to move down. The effect may not be immediate, but it will lessen the time you have to push considerably. Would you like to try?" 

 

"You'll have to help me," John whimpered, "I can't do it on my own." He'd been in the same position for hours; as soon as the contractions had worsened, Moriarty had made him labor that way. "Know hands and knees isn't the best, but I haven't been allowed to move."

 

Sherlock nodded, and quickly moved so that he was in front of John. He supported John allowing the man to put his arms around Sherlock's neck, and he slowly pulled the two of them up into a standing position. 

 

John wailed as he was pulled to standing, his knees trembling and giving out beneath him so the only thing holding him up was Sherlock. Everything was worse this way - the pressure, the pain - and he screamed hoarsely into Sherlock's shirt as another contraction hit, the baby feeling as if it was about to break through his cervix and drop out of him.

 

Sherlock held John firmly, supporting him, and began rocking the two of them slowly. Carefully, he reached a hand down, and felt John's opening. It had definitely widened, but not quite enough. "Just a little more, John. Just a little more before you can push." 

 

John sobbed against Sherlock in between his howls and cries. The prospect of having to push the enormous child through him somehow was even more terrifying than the constant pain. And then there was Sherlock, and the fact that he was finally being held so lovingly after months of abuse and limited contact; he didn't want to lose this when he'd just found it again. Dying would have been fine, before, but now he had something to live for. "I don't know if I can," he keened.

 

Sherlock pressed kisses to John's temple. "You can, John. You're strong. You can do this." Sherlock murmured. He vaguely began to wonder how John felt about his child, being that it was half Moriarty, after all. 

 

John leaned into the kisses, starving and desperate for the kind contact. He didn't know what Sherlock meant by them - he used to think that if Sherlock ever found him, he'd be too disgusted by John's condition to ever want him again. What would he do when the child was born? Surely he wouldn't want to raise the son of his nemesis, but John didn't know what else they could do with the baby. As much as he hated what had been done to him, hated his condition, hated the way the child seemed determined to hurt him every hour of the day, the reality was that this thing that was causing him so much pain was half  _ him,  _ and he felt an obligation to it.

 

Sherlock rubbed John's back, hoping to ease the pain, as well as the tension that undoubtedly added to the pain. He continued to murmur words of encouragement, and briefly tilted John's face and pressed their lips together. 

 

John moaned into the kiss both in pain and pleasure, eagerly seeking out more. He had to break it off to shout, however, as a particularly agonizing contraction gripped him, his body attempting to drop into a squat as he felt the urge to push.

 

Sherlock held him firmly, preventing from collapsing, and reached down again, feeling how open John was. He confirmed that John's body was ready to push, and he slowly crouched down, guiding John into a squatting position over the blankets. "Alright, John, when you feel ready, push." 

 

John's belly bulged low and heavy in front of him, and he cupped its weight in both hands, fervently wished he were birthing the twins it looked like he was carrying instead of the one overlarge baby Jim had forced to grow enormous inside of him. The child was huge, but there was nothing for it besides pushing it out. He threw back his head, undulating his hips, his stomach quivering as he began to bear down with a guttural howl.

 

Sherlock did his best to assist John, rubbing his back and such, but he knew that it didn't do much good. All he could really do was be there and monitor John's progress. "That's it, John. Just like that." he murmured. 

 

John pushed and struggled, screaming and lowing as he tried to birth the child. The baby was slowly inching its way into his birth canal, the sheer size of it almost too much to allow it to fit, and John felt as if each effort was making little to no progress. Sweat dripped down his laboring form, his thighs shaking from the strain of his heavy body. 

 

Sherlock kept his hands on John, occasionally wiping away the sweat from John's face. "Good, John. Keep pushing. Just until the contraction ends." He pushed a few strands of hair from John's eyes, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. 

 

John's only answer was another pained moan. His body trembled as the contraction ended, and continued to shake; the baby's head was a little ways into his birth canal, and the pain was constant. He leaned his weight heavily into the consulting detective as he panted. "It- it's a little bit in- oh, fuck, Sherlock,- it's so huge-"

 

"I know, John. I know..." Sherlock said softly, holding him steady. He hated seeing John in pain, unable to do anything but encourage him and hold him. "Deep breaths. Do you want to try changing positions?" 

 

"No," John whimpered, already anticipating the next contraction, "The gravity's helping some this way. Just- just hold me, yeah? I've missed you so much, Sherlock..."

 

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Alright." He dabbed the sweat from John's face. "And I've missed you too, John." he said quietly, placing a kiss on John's forehead. 

 

"Where have you been?" John asked, more tears beading in his eyes. His body suddenly gave over to another contraction and he bore down with it with a cry.

 

Sherlock cringed. The ten months John had been missing, Sherlock had done all he could to find him. The Yard was of no help, as ever, his homeless network was at a loss, and he couldn't find  _ anything _ on the whereabouts of John. Not even Mycroft had been able to provide assistance. He'd had a feeling that it had been Moriarty, but as expected, the consulting criminal had left no clues. Sherlock had completely and utterly failed John. He couldn't find the proper words, so he simply remained quiet, guilt gnawing at him as he held John and rubbed his back. 

 

"Please," John begged. "I- I don't know how you got here. I wouldn't blame you if you'd given up. But please- just- just tell me we can go home after this. I want to go home, Sherlock," the doctor sobbed after the contraction had let up.

 

Sherlock swallowed. "Of course we can go home after this. There's no reason not to. I....I looked for you, John. I never gave up. But Moriarty...... He made it impossible to....to find you. Today, he texted me about your whereabouts." he said quietly. "I'm sorry for not being able to come to you sooner. I'm so sorry." 

 

Sherlock's words gave the struggling man some of his heart back. John opened his mouth to reassure the detective, but all that emerged was another loud groan as his belly squeezed tight around the baby. He pushed with more strength than before, the promise of home driving him to finish the labor.

 

Sherlock continued to hold John, doing all he could to ease some pain if at all. 

 

With John's concentrated efforts, the head was moving down more quickly. His pushes involved less screaming and more focused grunting, his face reddening under the strain as he bore down hard with each contraction. He could go home. He could go home. Sherlock was here now, and they'd go home together. The pain was still very much present, but the thoughts drove him to work past it. "Love you so much," he managed during a lull, panting hard.

 

"I love you too, John." Sherlock said, kissing John. "Very much so." He smiled. "And you're doing so well." he murmured. 

 

John kissed Sherlock back fiercely, bearing down as he did so. He was taken by surprise when he felt his hole stretching, burning, pushing outwards under the pressure of the baby's enormous head. Instead of screaming, he deepened the kiss, trying to lose himself in the sensation as his body labored Jim's huge child out of him.

 

Sherlock's hand came up and supported the back of John's neck, helping to deepen the kiss. He hummed softly, and tentatively slipped his tongue into John's mouth.  

 

John responded eagerly and in kind, his tongue pressing past the consulting detective's lips with a groan of satisfaction and pain. He moved his thighs further apart, making room for the huge head emerging from between his legs as he kissed Sherlock, the baby's features slowly inching out of him little by little- until suddenly he grunted against his partner's lips as, with a heavy gush of amniotic fluid, the first part of the child was out and hanging heavily from him.

 

"Well done, love. You're almost finished." Sherlock said, looking down to check the child. He reached down, making sure the umbilical cord was not wrapped around the child in such a way that it would endanger its life. He loosened the umbilical cord some, so he could take it off from around the baby's neck. "Shoulders next, John." he said, pressing his lips to John's forehead. 

 

"Almost there," John breathed. The hardest part of the baby was out, and he had never been so relieved - the kiss had distracted him from much of the pain; it was the kind of kiss he'd fantasized about when Jim had made advances on him. John had always pretended it was Sherlock when the criminal touched him, though it earned him slaps or worse for being inattentive. He mentally braced himself for the last of the labor, giving a great push as soon as he felt the need.

 

Sherlock no longer held John, as he was preparing to catch the child. He watched with fascination as John's body slowly began to opened and stretch around the large child. 

 

John grunted and growled, using every muscle he could to finish birthing Jim's enormous child. He couldn't help but cry out a few times, but continued making progress, giving a surprised shout when the baby finally slid out to the waist, Sherlock's capable hands tugging it the rest of the way. He suddenly felt yawningly empty, but was distracted from the odd sensation by the loud, healthy cry of a baby underneath him.

 

Sherlock wiped down the child, unable to not smile. "Oh, John..." he breathed. "It's a boy." He chuckled. "Here, lie back, and he can lie on you." He helped John down, knowing how exhausted John must be. He carefully laid the wailing baby on John's chest. 

 

"Oh...oh my god..." John breathed, letting his baby lie across his chest. Tears leaked out of his eyes at the sight of his little boy; the child had Jim's dark hair, but John's features. The doctor had thought he'd feel conflicted about his child when it was born, but now, even after such a difficult labor and so many months of pain, he found he felt nothing but love for it. "Hello baby," he whispered as it squalled and he cradled it close, "Hello, please don't cry, everything is alright now.."

 

Sherlock refrained from stating that the infant was not crying because it was concerned or hurt, but rather exercising it's lungs. He merely smiled. "Well done, John. Well done. I'm so proud of you." he murmured, pressing kisses to John's temple. The child barely resembled Moriarty at all. It was almost as though the infant was purely John. Sherlock shrugged off his coat and draped it over them. 

 

"You should call an ambulance," John murmured, smoothing over his baby's damp hair as the child rooted for his nipple, the baby calming immediately when it began to nurse. As he wiped away some of the blood, the doctor noticed his own golden strands running through his son's hair, and wondered if that might turn out like him too, after all. "Does anybody know you've come here?"

  
Sherlock nodded. "Mycroft has undoubtedly sent one by now. It should be here soon." he said softly, watching in reverent amazement. 

 

John grimaced, feeling the contractions for the afterbirth beginning. In a few more pushes, however, it was out of him. "Tie off the cord, and find something to cut it too if you can," he ordered. "Then come lay down next to me, git. I don't want to be looking at you all the way up there," the doctor smiled.

 

Sherlock blinked, and looked at John for a moment, before nodding. He did as John asked, tying off and cutting the cord. Soon after, he moved so that he was beside John. He gazed at John, the corners of his mouth turned upwards. He gently pushed stray locks of hair from John's face, and kissed him. 

 

John kissed back carefully, making sure not to jostle the child at his breast. One hand came up to cup the back of Sherlock's neck, his thumb stroking over the soft hair at the nape. "Love you," he hummed quietly into Sherlock's mouth.

 

Sherlock hummed in appreciation. "I love you too, John. Very much so." he murmured, pulling away just enough to look into John's eyes and beam down at him. 

 

John smiled back, his eyes wet with new tears. "I missed you so much, Sherlock." The baby made a soft noise around his breast and he looked down at it. "I wish he was yours."

 

Sherlock sighed softly, and caressed John's cheek with a few fingers. "I wish so too. But it's alright -- he won't be a Moriarty. He'll be a Holmes." He paused. "Or, rather, a Watson-Holmes." He chuckled softly. 

 

John beamed. "Absolutely." He glanced back at the baby, "Jim thought he would break us. Pity for him - he's done the exact opposite." 

 

Sherlock chuckled. "Quite right." he agreed quietly. He hesitated slightly before speaking again. "John, would it be possible if you stopped calling him Jim? It.....sounds so......" He sighed, and looked away. 

 

"S-sorry," John stuttered, blushing, "It's not like- J- Moriarty made me call him that... he.. it's going to take some getting used to not to say it anymore."

 

Sherlock tentatively looked back to John, and he sighed. "Yes, of course. Thank you, John." he murmured, pressing a kiss on John's jaw. 

 

"S' okay," John said, flinching away as if he'd expected to be hit instead, "S'okay... I won't do it anymore, I'll try my best, promise-"

 

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction. "John, it's...it's me." he said quietly, looking deep into John's eyes, trying to reassure him. 

 

John blinked, tears beading in his eyes as he tried to put on a brave smile. "Yeah, 'course it is. I know, I'm sorry, it's just..." he bit his lip, trying to keep from crying, "Guess I'm not all that good after all, huh?"

 

Sherlock sighed softly, slowly running his fingers through John's hair. "Don't say that, love. You are wonderful. You are beautiful and brave and brilliant and strong. You don't need to apologize. You can take your time adjusting back to our life together, and we are going to get you through this." 

 

John nodded, a few tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes despite himself, "Thanks. I was afraid of this," he whimpered, "That you wouldn't want me, not just because of the baby, but because of what he's made of me."

 

Sherlock carefully took John's hand, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I could never not want you, John." he breathed, his lips ghosting over the skin of John's hand. 

 

John nearly pulled away, but then relaxed, Sherlock's lips feeling less  _ wrong _ than Moriarty's had. Just then, the baby began to snuffle, the nipple falling out of its mouth as it finished its meal. John gave it a small smile, adjusting the child to gently pat its back.

 

Sherlock pulled back slightly, and smiled, watching John and the child for a moment. Ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes. It had taken them long enough. 

 

John smiled up at him, excited. "Is that our ride? God, I can't believe it... Is it very cold out?" he asked, suddenly thinking of both his own nakedness and the baby's, "To be honest, I've lost track of the time.."

 

"It's not too bad. No need to worry." Sherlock assured him with a smile. It didn't take too long for the paramedics to find them. 

 

At the beginning of his captivity, John had fantasized about a scene like this - paramedics and police coming to the rescue, called by Sherlock after his partner had finally found him again - though he hadn't pictured the baby in tow. The presence of so many people all at once, though, made him unexpectedly nervous, and he inched closer towards Sherlock, reaching out to hold the Consulting Detective's hand. 

 

Sherlock took John's hand. "It's alright, John. You're safe. I'm here." he murmured. "They're going to help, and make sure your baby's nice and healthy, alright?" A paramedic approached, and knelt down to take the child. 

 

John watched the man with wide eyes, nearly attempting to snatch the baby closer to him, but letting go of the movement at a squeeze of Sherlock's hand. He reluctantly loosened his grip on his child, allowing the paramedic to take and inspect him. His son immediately began to squall, and John flinched in guilt and sympathy.

 

Another paramedic approached. She kept her distance, and simply gave John and Sherlock a comforting smile. She motioned over a couple of men with a stretcher, and carefully, and gently, lifted John onto it. 

 

John kept a tight hold on Sherlock's hand the entire time, despite the fact that it made it a little difficult for the paramedics to move him. Though his fingers clasped his partner tightly, his eyes were fixated on his little boy, making sure that his son was safe.

 

Sherlock looked over at the child, then to the paramedic. "He will be riding with us, yes?" The paramedic nodded, and Sherlock nodded once in thanks. The paramedics moved John from the room back out to the ambulance, draping a blanket over him, and Sherlock followed. The paramedic carrying the child got in the vehicle first, and wrapped the baby in clean blankets. 

 

John tugged the blanket around him with his free hand eagerly, kneading the soft fabric between his fingers. It was a luxury, after ten months kept naked and cold, except for instances where Moriarty had feared for the child's health and allowed him a thin comforter. There was always an exchange though - a blanket meant Jim underneath it with him, doing things he didn't want but couldn't help his body responding to. With alarm and mortification, he realized he was already getting hard under the material, his body conditioned to react in such a manner.

 

Sherlock saw the look of alarm on John's face. "John?" he said quietly. "What's wrong?" 

 

John gripped Sherlock's hand harder, his other hand letting go of the soft fabric to try and push down his obvious erection. "Don't look," he whimpered, feeling pained and aroused as he cupped himself, "I'm sorry.. I can't help it.."

 

Sherlock's eyes trailed down John's body, and he saw what was happening. He gave John's hand a squeeze. "John, it's alright. You don't need to apologize." He kissed John's hand. 

 

"I said don't look," John said in a small voice, blushing furiously red. He knew Sherlock could probably deduce  _ why  _ it was happening, and the thought hurt. "Sorry," he mumbled again, despite himself.

 

Sherlock sighed softly, and kissed the corner of John's mouth. "I said it's fine, love." he said quietly. "And I can take care of it for you, if you want." he breathed, almost inaudible. He pulled a bit back, waiting for a reaction. 

 

John gasped softly, his head snapping to look at Sherlock with wide, confused eyes. "Here?" he hissed quietly, his voice nonetheless laced with longing, "But- but we're- there are  _ people _ around, and-"

 

"It was simply an offer." Sherlock murmured. "Just let me know if you want me." He chuckled.

 

"I.. I do..." John whispered, blushing even deeper, "Oh god, I do. Please."

 

Sherlock kissed John gently, and carefully slid his hand under the blanket, and ran his hand along John's member.

 

John's breath hitched and he stifled a whimper, his eyes nervously flickering toward the paramedics to see if they'd noticed anything. Either they truly were unaware, or were purposely allowing John a moment, he wasn't sure, but all seemed to be preoccupied in some form or another. His cock was aching, dripping, and he desperately wanted relief.

 

Sherlock smiled slightly, and began slowly stroking him. The paramedics were not as stupid as they seemed-- he was sure they knew what the two of them were doing. Sherlock gently ran his thumb over the tip of John's leaking cock, and continued his languid strokes. 

 

John bit his lip, breathing heavily. He wanted more, but couldn't ask for it; they were being indiscreet enough as it was, Sherlock pleasuring him in a small, enclosed space full of people. He couldn't suppress the beginnings of a moan, however, when Sherlock's thumb ran over the tip of his cock all too briefly, smearing precome over the slit.

 

Sherlock leaned in, pressing his lips to John's silencing the moan. His long fingers trailed down and cupped John's balls, fondling them gently, before going back up and stroking him. 

 

John hadn't been touched like this in ages; even when Jim had done similar things, it was for the purpose of giving himself pleasure at John's helplessness to submit to his caresses. Sherlock's hand, though teasing, caused John to feel warmth instead of black shame at his responses.  _ More, more, more _ , his brain cried, and he gently rocked his hips up into Sherlock's hand, trying to gain more friction, more attention.

 

Sherlock complied to the eager rocking of John's hips, speeding up his hand some, the slick precome on John's cock already beginning to make soft wet noises. 

 

John bought Sherlock down into another heady kiss to stifle the moans he felt rising in his throat. A few needy noises escaped, however, obscenely accompanied by the wet noises of Sherlock's hand pumping his increasingly slick cock. 

 

Sherlock hummed softly, smiling into the kiss, unable to help himself. John was so eager. He sped up his hand, tightening it just slightly, and twisted the head, just a bit, the way he knew John liked. 

 

John gasped audibly, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. "Oh god, just like that," he whimpered softly before thinking, his cheeks blazing red in embarrassment when he realized the words had been spoken aloud. He was nearly past the point of caring, however, desperate for Sherlock to finish him off.

 

Sherlock chuckled, and continued as John asked. He could tell that John was close, and he intended to let John finish and have some relief. He peppered John's face with kisses. 

 

John messily tried to kiss Sherlock back, his lips meeting Sherlock's face in awkward locations in his eagerness. A few more strokes from Sherlock's hand  _ just  _ the way he used to love, and he was coming into the Consulting Detective's hand with a low, sustained groan.

 

Sherlock groaned softly as well when he felt John spill over his fingers. His strokes slowed, continuing to stroke John through his orgasm, and eventually stopped. He placed an especially long kiss to the corner of John's mouth, before pulling his hand out from under the blanket. 

 

John eventually opened his eyes to look back at Sherlock, his cheeks flushed, his gaze hazy and languid. "Tha- tha' wass good," he slurred, grinning almost drunkenly at Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm glad I was able to be of assistance." he murmured, slowly wiping his hand on the edge of the blanket. He smiled down at John lovingly. 

 

John giggled. He hadn't felt so much bliss after an orgasm in such a long time; despite the fact that he was grimy, his skin glistening with drying sweat, flecked with blood, fluids, and dirt, he'd never felt so  _ clean  _ after sex in his entire life. It wasn't a cure or an erasure of what Moriarty had done to him, but it was a step towards those things, and he allowed himself to revel in it.

 

One of the paramedics informed them that they'd be at the hospital soon, and that they'd take John in for examination -- the baby as well. Sherlock nodded, and thanked the paramedic, and looked back down at John with a smile. 

 

"How long do I have to stay?" John asked, "And my son- is there any way you can prevent us from being separated? I'm sorry, but I can't let him out of my sight."

 

The paramedic smiled slightly. "It depends on your condition, but at most, three days, I'd think. You'll probably be out in a day or two. And...as for your son...." She sighed softly. "I'll see what I can do." 

 

John set his face, looking determined, "I'll put off my own exams if it means staying with him through his. There's no reason we shouldn't be able to stay together. You don't have permission to take him from my sight."

 

Sherlock put a hand on John's arm, and the paramedic looked surprised. The expression turned into a small smile. "Alright, I understand. You won't be separated." she said evenly, nodding once. 

 

John gave her a curt nod in return, before taking a deep breath and blushing. He became aware of Sherlock's hand on his arm, and placed his own fingers over it. "Sorry..." he mumbled, "S' just.. I don't want to take any chances.. he'll be safest with us."

 

Sherlock smiled. "I know, love. It's fine." he murmured. John had always had a protective partner, and obviously it transferred over to anything or anyone he cared about. It was quite sweet.

 

John gave a hesitant smile in return, before turning to watch his child with hungry eyes. He wanted to hold his baby again already, but they were very nearly to the hospital.

 

The ambulance pulled up to the hospital, and John and the child were carted to the Emergency Room, where they were examined together. Sherlock remained with John, following close by. 

 

The whole process was a bit overwhelming, after so many months of solitude and limited contact. John tried to keep his focus on Sherlock or the baby as the nurses poked and prodded, took measurements, probed for any signs of illness or complications. The baby was announced to be just fine, and John was declared as healthy as could be expected, if exhausted and dehydrated, and both were set up in a private room. Dirty as he was, John was immediately given a sponge bath before being dressed, the sensation of wearing clothes unusual, the papery fabric of the hospital gown feeling odd against his skin. 

 

Sherlock sat in the chair next to John's bed, not once leaving John's side through the ordeal. Once all the nurses left, he gave John's hand a quick squeeze. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. He could see how uncomfortable John had been during the examinations, and he was worried. 

 

"I'm okay," John replied, trying to put on a brave smile, "It was just a lot. J- Moriarty kept me for his personal use, almost never let me see anyone else." He picked uncomfortably at the tape securing the IV in his arm. "Clothes are new, too," he added with a weak chuckle.

 

Sherlock sighed softly, and nodded. He reached out, carefully running his hands through John's hair. 

 

John closed his eyes, gratefully enjoying the touch. "I know it must be hard for you, having me like this," he murmured.

 

"It's much better than not having you here with me at all." Sherlock replied softly.

 

John looked at Sherlock for a moment with conflicted sadness, "You might not say that, somewhere down the line. You'll wish for the "old" me back, and I won't blame you. If I get too much to handle, I'll understand if you don't want to ... you know.."

 

Sherlock's expression softened. "John, I can say with absolute certainty that that will not happen. You've loved me unconditionally, and I intend to do the same. You're everything to me, John, and that won't ever change. I'm here with you, no matter what happens."

 

John swallowed hard and nodded. He looked to the golden band shining on Sherlock's left hand, and then to his own empty one. The scar from an obviously deep, intentional gash encircled his finger like a grotesque ring. "He- he took it," he choked out, showing Sherlock the mark and then clutching his fist to his chest painfully, tears rapidly falling down his face.

 

Sherlock stood, and crossed the short distance between him and John, and took a seat on the bed. He wrapped his arms around John, and held onto his hands. He placed kisses to John's temple, and slid his own ring off and onto John's finger. "He can't take this away from us." he whispered.

 

The gold band fit snugly over the ugly scar, covering the marred flesh easily. John sobbed as he looked at it, brought both their hands close to his heart to cradle the precious thing as he burrowed against his husband. He nodded his head in agreement.

 

Sherlock smiled and gently squeezed John, stroking his back. "I love you, John. Now and always." he murmured, kissing him. "Pardon the cliche." he added.

 

John gave a weak chuckle through his tears, "Maybe. You haven't gone and gotten boring on me, have you?"

 

Sherlock chuckled. "I most certainly hope not." he replied, wiping away John's tears with his thumbs. 

 

John snuffled softly, hiccuping as a fresh tear rolled down his cheek, "Did- are we- are you- has much changed?" he finally got out. He didn't know if he wanted to know whether or not Sherlock had cleared out his things. He wondered if Baker Street was still home, or if Sherlock had found himself a smaller place.

 

Sherlock blinked, and looked down sheepishly. "Ah, yes, well, I suppose....it may be a bit........ messier than you remember it." he muttered. The ten months John had been missing, no one had nagged him to clean up -- not even Mrs. Hudson. She knew how devastated he was, and how hard he was working to get John back, and she simply didn't have the heart to tell Sherlock to do the dishes or clear the table or clean out the fridge. He hardly ate, even less than before, and papers and experiments were everywhere, all things pertaining to John's kidnapping in one way or another. Sherlock had refused to take on cases, but Lestrade had brought them over anyway, so a small stack of case files had been created. In short, the flat was an absolute disaster, and certainly not a child friendly environment. 

 

John raised a curious eyebrow, turning to really survey his husband for the first time since his rescue. Sherlock was more than peaky and disheveled - his formerly sharp cheekbones now standing out in sharp contrast to the rest of his sickly pale face. His hair was wild and tangled, his jaw covered in a thin, patchy growth of beard. Dark purple shadows bloomed heavily under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like an absolute wreck of a man, John thought with a stab of pain. "Oh, love..," he breathed quietly, one hand coming up to caress Sherlock's wan cheek.

 

Sherlock leaned in to the touch, allowing himself a moment to be the vulnerable one. He'd missed John's touch all these months, but he knew that John had had it much worse. He gave John a small sad smile. "Well, I'm sure I can get the flat cleaned up enough for the three of us to begin living in it." he mumbled. 

 

John pulled him in for a tender, sad kiss, his thumb slowly stroking along Sherlock's cheek and jaw. "Let me help?" he asked finally, "If it's not too toxic in there, I can keep the baby in a sling on my front, carry him around while we work. I want to do something to help."

 

Sherlock nodded slowly. "There.... There aren't any experiments, really. Just... a bit of scattered papers and such." he explained quietly. "It should be safe enough."

 

John looked carefully at Sherlock, trying to read him. His husband surely hadn't been working cases in this condition, he was too-  _ broken _ . He dropped the thread of thought - he wasn't sure he wanted to know just now; he'd find out soon enough. "No experiments? None at all?" he asked with a gentle, tentative smile, "That's not like you."

 

"Honestly, I don't think I've been myself for quite some time." Sherlock admitted quietly. "But not to worry. Now that I have my better half back, I'm sure I'll be as unruly as ever." he said with a small smile. 

 

John cupped Sherlock's cheek with one hand, burying his head into the curve of his partner's neck. Sherlock didn't smell like he had been used to - his scent was laced with those of sweat and blood, and something that smelled distinctly unwashed. "With the exception that all toxic experiments are regulated to the lab," he murmured, "We need a more baby-proof flat."

 

Sherlock chuckled softly. "I suppose I can make do with such arrangements." he agreed. He nuzzled into John, and pressed a kiss to the side of his face. 

 

John hummed contentedly, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them to gaze at his son. Now dressed in a neat blue onesie, the baby lay sleeping soundly in a cot next to the bedside.  "What should we name him?" he asked quietly. The child wasn't Sherlock's, sure, but as far as John was concerned, Sherlock was his real father in every other sense of the word. 

 

Sherlock blinked, and looked over as well. "I'm not sure. I think...Hamish is nice." he said with a smile, his mind suddenly jumping to their conversation -- it felt like an eternity ago. "Did you have any names in mind? Or names you want to use?"

 

"No," John said, a soft grin spreading across his face, "Hamish is perfect." He considered for a moment, knowing his son would need a middle name as well. "I.. I know it's a bit of a mouthful, but- I mean, 'Hamish Sherlock,' sounds awful, you have to admit," he chuckled, "but what about 'Hamish Alexander Sherlock'? I'm sure that's not ridiculous by Holmes names standards, though you might need to take a breath in the middle saying 'Hamish Alexander Sherlock Watson-Holmes.'"

  
Sherlock's eyebrows rose, but he smiled. "Hamish Alexander Sherlock Watson-Holmes." he murmured, then chuckled. "Quite the mouthful." he agreed. He paused.  "It's perfect." 


End file.
